


Night of the Hunter

by Hermy007



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Humiliation, Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermy007/pseuds/Hermy007
Summary: A normal night of Snatching turns into something infinitely more entertaining.Scabior gets more than he bargained for in the form of a pretty, young witch—with a helluva attitude problem and an infamous reputation to boot.* Content based on ‘Deathly Hallows Part 1’ movie plot, not the book! *** The violence & non-con warnings are for Chapter 2 exclusively! Chapters 1 & 3 are suggestive for sure, but clean! **
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Scabior
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Captivated

**Author's Note:**

> No smut in this chapter! If that’s what you’re here for, go to Chapter 2!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scabior and his men apprehend a group of teenagers in the forest...but as he comes to find out, these aren't his ordinary sort of victims...

**Night of the Hunter: Captivated**

“ ‘Ello, beautiful,” Scabior drawled. Fingering the beaded pink scarf, he greedily drank in the girl’s appetizing appearance. He made no attempt to hide his thorough examination as his dark eyes hungrily raked over her slender, feminine form. 

He saw what he liked—and he liked what he saw. 

Scabior licked his lips with predatorial anticipation; this scrumptious lil’ piece would make a fine catch indeed. 

He saw the girl’s forehead crease with worry, and she made a small choked noise—somewhere between shock and dismay.

Scabior formed a sly smile as she shakily stepped back from him, before promptly taking off with the other truants. His hapless gang hung back—anxiously awaiting his command. 

_What’d they think they needed to do—the useless sods..._

He sighed briefly, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, don’ hang ‘bout... _snatch_ ‘em!” 

His lackies started to sprint after their respective targets, breaking off in their usual formation. 

Scabior zeroed in on the delectable girl—reasoning that, between Greyback and the others, her little boyfriends would soon fall into place, too. 

He streaked towards her, scarf billowing in his wake. 

She nimbly dodged their spells, haphazardly returning their volley with her own.

The girl was quick, but he was just a tad bit quicker—but some of his compatriots, not so much. 

Scabior snorted as they collapsed onto the muddy forest floor in a cohesive, pitiful heap. 

Now, it was just him and her—and that’s how he wanted it. 

_“Clever_ little minx, ain’t ya,” he murmured in appreciation as he swept effortlessly across the uneven terrain. 

How he _relished_ the pursuit of the prize. 

It had coursed through his veins as a lad when he’d won footraces against his peers—it even provided him a rather illustrious career as a Slytherin Chaser, when he translated his physical prowess to one of a broomstick.

Despite the short-lived fun he had had with past endeavors, none of that compared to that heady thrill of stalking living prey. 

This same hunt would also, on occasion, provide some rather succulent spoils that he would treat himself to—monetarily, and otherwise. 

He’d always been told that if he were good at something...never do it for free. 

And _this_ swift little bird was literally giving him a run for his Galleons, but he wasn’t worried—yet.

Scabior was closing in now, and she knew it. 

He gave a low growl as he quickened his pace to secure the remaining gap between them, his leather-clad boots thudding steadily against the muddy earth. 

But he needn't have bothered; by the time he finally neared the girl, some of his men had fanned out and formed a semi-circle to head them off, like a noose coiling around the neck of its next victim. 

He watched as one-by-one, each youth was swiftly snagged. 

Scabior slowed to a swagger, then stopped to lean against a tree. 

He quietly scrutinized his quarry, his fingertips unconsciously traipsing across the scarf’s silky patterns.

The moment the girl was captured, the ginger barked, ‘Don’t touch her!’ earning him a fierce blow to the abdomen from Greyback. 

Scabior leered knowingly—clearly, he was the possessive, mouthy one of the bunch. 

The boy grunted and fell to his knees, while the girl demandingly retorted, “ _Leave_ him!” 

But _she_ , on the other hand, was a bit more subdued. 

That being said, though, she still didn’t fool him for a second—anyone with half a brain could see the unanswered tension between the two. 

Scabior sneered—why the tosser never made a move on the lil’ prig was beyond him. 

“Get _off_ me!” the girl commanded, struggling hard to free herself from the grasp of a young Snatcher. 

_This one’s used to givin’ out the orders_ , _she is,_ he thought wryly. 

And by Merlin, she had some fight in her, too—this was gonna be _fun_.

He grinned as he sauntered towards the group. 

“Your boyfriend’ll get much worse than _that_ —if he doesn’ learn to be’ave ‘imself,” he warned matter-of-factly.

He then turned to question the other boy—the dark-haired, quiet one, who looked like he’d been stung by something. 

The palpable waves of apprehension and dread that rolled off the lad spoke more to Scabior than anything the boy actually said. 

There was no doubt that this lil’ wanker was _definitely_ hiding something—something vitally important, at that. 

But the dead giveaway was the instant increase in struggle from both the girl and the ginger as soon as he approached the other boy—as if there was something _worth_ protecting about the scrawny prat.

His brow furrowed. 

Maybe he could get it out of the girl...he stalked towards her, intentionally softening his tone to get her off-balance—try to get her to slip, somehow. 

“And you, m’ lovely,” he paused, inches from her face.

“What d’they call you?” 

Tight-lipped, she muttered her answer, not meeting his hungry, salacious gaze.

“Penelope Clearwater—half-blood.” 

Being this close to her, he could nearly _taste_ the mouthwatering aroma that subtly lingered against her skin—vanilla, with the faintest hint of lavender. 

But wait. 

He _knew_ that smell...he nuzzled her collarbone, before sniffing the scarf’s fabric to confirm his suspicion. 

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, his face alight with recognition. 

Even though it had long lost its potency, he could never forget that intoxicating, effeminate scent that curled around his nostrils, stiffening him in unmentionable places.

He could hardly believe his good fortune—against all odds, he’d somehow stumbled upon the owner of the scarf. 

What’s more, that smell triggered another memory, of months back when he’d first inhaled that sweet, delicate fragrance—it had contrasted so starkly with the wretched stench he was used to enduring on a daily basis. 

From that day forward, the then-unknown girl had become the uncontested focal point of his feverish, achingly-vivid fantasies.

Night after fitful night, the carnal visions persisted, ever heightening his desire to find the elusive, sensuous phantom that haunted his dreams. 

How he’d _yearned_ for this moment, lusted for it with an insatiable thirst—and now, at last, that long-awaited object was here before him, in living color.

And she did not disappoint. 

“I think I ‘ave somethin’ of yours, love,” he whispered, leaning in to get another whiff of her.

He could still detect the original scents, but they were now thoroughly overpowered by the tell-tale tang of fear. 

She absolutely _reeked_ of it, though she tried to appear neutral. 

But unfortunately for his little vixen, he had learned a long time ago that desperation was the most robust perfume of all. 

Yet, despite her clear unease, he noticed the defiant set of her jaw, and the quiet determination that smouldered in her gaze.

He gave her a small, playful wink.

So, the girl wanted to play, huh? 

If she reckoned she could somehow best him—then boy, did this jumped-up lil’ bit have something coming.

Sooner or later, she’d find out—they all ended up doing _exactly_ what he wanted. 

He vowed that somehow, some way, by Merlin—he’d break her. 

And if there’s one thing he never shied away from...it was a challenge. 

He teasingly caressed the girl’s cheek, smirking as she reeled back from his touch, her nose wrinkling with blatant revulsion.

Just as he was starting to really savor his affect on her, one of the other Snatchers reported there was no “Vernon Dudley” in their book.

So, that specky git _was_ lying—but why? 

The seemingly disjointed pieces of their story suddenly jumped together in his mind—their edgy, ultra-protective behavior, paired with the oddness of the dark-haired boy’s injuries…

He whistled to himself in incredulous realisation. 

_Holy bleedin’ fuck, it couldn’ be! Could it be—_

Scabior’s eyes narrowed, his brows knitting together in deep concentration.

If that boy was really who he thought he was, that meant the ginger was one of those blood-traitor Weasleys...which made this creamy lil’ tart—deliciously expendable. 

He flicked the tip of his tongue to wet his lower lip. _Lovely._

Scabior's thoughts were now coming in rapid succession.

Because of their inherently thick nature, he was certain none of his men would catch on to the trios’ true identities—at least for the moment. 

But, if this truly _was_ Potter—then he needed to be _sure_...which meant he’d have to wait ‘til the lil’ blighter cleared up. 

And by that point, even the dullest of his lot would realise who they actually had—then, he’d have lost his one chance of a splendid little leg-over with Miss Mudblood.

Blood-status notwithstanding, it had absolutely no bearing on how maddeningly _fit_ she was...and the way he saw it, he was an equal-opportunity kinda bloke when it came to times like these.

If he was gonna get the gold _and_ the girl, he’d have to act quickly.

“ Alrigh,’ ‘ere’s what we’ll do...we’ll turn ‘em in right quick, but before that—” 

He brazenly hauled the girl from her captor with a roguish wink. 

“I ‘ave some...unfinished bus’ness with this one.”

“Like hell—!” the ginger snarled as he made a lunge for him, the others jeering as they quickly pinned the young assailant. 

Scabior then glanced down at the girl, bending confidingly towards her so only she could hear him. 

He quietly, confidently asserted, “You’re gonna be my _favourite_.”

She recoiled from him with a withering expression—jaw firmly clenched, her eyes ablaze. 

The girl looked like she wanted nothing more than to hex him into a pile of pus—but thankfully, being deprived of her wand, she’d get no such chance.

He then saw her eyes flash with newfound intent—but before he could react, the girl leaned back to spit in his face, catching him square on the cheek.

There was a moment of stunned silence as all eyes were on him. 

Scabior casually flicked the saliva away, then just as casually, struck her hard across the face. 

“I’ll fuckin’ _kill_ you!” the red-haired boy roared as the girl staggered backwards from the blow. 

Blank shock had flit across her face, but the girl recovered quickly as she stood her ground, regarding him warily.

For the first time, he discerned a visible flicker of fear reflected in her usually-stoic features. 

Scabior cocked his head to the side, determining his next move. 

He _could_ rough her up some more to get her to crack…but with a sudden stroke of insight, he realised there was a _much_ more efficient method to get his way. 

And with that, he pounced on the ginger, and started pummeling him to a bloody pulp. 

“No—!” the girl gave a strangled cry and lurched towards them, but one of his men reached out and held her fast.

Scabior ignored her and Potter’s pleas as he delivered a series of crippling blows to the Weasley’s head, chest, and stomach—not relenting until the latter finally slumped to the ground.

He then wrenched the boy’s head upwards, and gestured towards the girl, who had sunk to her knees, weeping profusely.

Scabior coarsely muttered into his ear, “Is tha’ your tidy lil’ bint o’er there?” 

“Go...t’...hell,” the boy hissed thickly through bloody teeth, jerking his head in a futile attempt to free himself. 

Scabior then raised his voice so the rest could hear him.

“What’s wron’, ginger? Not willin’ t’ share?” 

He released his hold on the boy, while his men renewed their catcalling. 

Scabior remained in a kneeling position besides the Weasley, as he absentmindedly rubbed his jaw, lost in thought. 

After a moment, he solemnly remarked, “Y’ know somethin’, ginge?” 

“I really don’ think _I_ should suffer if you didn’ ‘ave the bollocks to pop ‘er tight lil’ cherry.” 

Wincing, the boy mustered his strength to raise his head and glower at him. 

“If—you—touch—her—” the Weasley growled, his scarlet face contorted with rage. 

Scabior snorted as he got to his feet. 

“I’m ‘fraid you haven’ got a leg t’ stand on, mate. Now if you’ll ‘scuse me…”

“Stop!” Potter desperately interjected. 

Scabior turned towards him, mildly amused. 

“Please…” the lad pleaded. “Please—leave them out of this.”

“Why?” Scabior countered, his eyes gleaming knowingly. 

“Got somethin’ t’ tell me, boy?” 

He watched in interest as the young chap swiveled his head between the Weasley and the girl, clearly conflicted. 

Scabior swore he saw the latter ever-so-slightly jerk her head to the side.

He then looked back at Potter, who had become silent.

“Nuthin’ to say, then? Fair ‘nough, I’ll get back t’you later.”

Scabior balled his fist underneath the girl’s scalp, and cruelly yanked her up by the roots of her hair. 

“C’mon my girl, on your feet.” 

Once standing, he whipped her around to face him.

“Ready t’ co’perate, or not?” 

She didn’t answer, but instead turned her dirty, tear-smeared face to glance between her two companions.

“I ain’ got time for this,” he hissed. 

“Now, ‘ere’s the thing, pet.” 

Scabior gestured indifferently towards the Weasley’s prostrate form.

“Your ginger squeeze o’er there ain’t _my_ type; but as for Greyback…‘e makes lil’ distinction ‘tween anyone—‘s long as they got a pulse, and sometimes, not even then.” 

The werewolf cackled as he felt the girl shudder.

“See, the ‘onger you deliberate, the ‘onger you’ll be ‘eaving your lil’ boyfriend out in the open, wounds and all.”

“So if _I_ was you, I’d keep tha’ time as shor’ as poss’ble, yeah?” 

Her jaw tightened as she scowled at him, chest heaving.

The girl’s voice quivered in response, undisguised loathing in every syllable.

“How—how’d I know you won’t have him attacked, even if I did,” she swallowed as her voice started to quaver more, “did go with you?”

Scabior toothily grinned. 

“Weelll,” he deliberated, chuckling darkly. 

“You certainly won’ hurt your chances now, wil’ ya, love?” 

Greyback guffawed, while the others started to heckle more urgently now, egging him on. 

“Git on with it—wotcha waitin’ for Scab—get a mov’ on!” 

His mens’ voices clamored together, drowning out the pitious whines of the boys as they continued to grapple with their captors. 

Scabior curiously appraised the girl, who locked her eyes on his. 

Where there was only confusion in her gaze, now—now he saw only resolve. 

She gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

And that was all he needed. 

He quickly conjured dark cords around her wrists, before unceremoniously starting to drag her away.

But she dug in her heels and turned back to face the other two, agony etched onto her flushed, teary face.

She valiantly tried to reassure them—her strained, raw voice crackling with emotion.

“ ‘S o.k...I’ll be ok...I love—”

But before she could finish, Scabior had broken the grip she had had on the ground, and brusquely shoved her in front of him.

He then jerked his head towards Greyback, who personally took hold of the Weasley; the boy had become so hysterically frantic that he’d exasperated the others. 

“DON’T—don’t take her...I’ll do anything—ANYTHING!” 

The ginger continued to bellow in vain, sobbing and ferociously bucking as if his very life depended on it. 

Despite the severe thrashing he had previously received, he was still carrying on as if a finger had never been laid on him. 

_‘S a damn pity he’s a Weasley...I coul’ use more like the lil’ bugger._

Regardless, though—he still had to keep up appearances.

So Scabior winked provokingly and waggled his fingers at the boys as they shuffled into the thicket of trees—their infuriated, anguished cries ricocheting across the woods. 

Just as they were starting to be enveloped by the surrounding foliage, there was a muffled sniffle as he saw the girl dab her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. 

A faint smile tugged on his lips—surely, it would only be a matter of time ‘til she cracked. 

After all, the night was still young. 

  
  


***  
  
  
  



	2. Consummated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their ensuing encounter becomes the stuff of her nightmares—and the stuff of his dreams. 
> 
> *WARNING - explicit content in this chapter: LEMONS, LEMONS, and more lemons! I’ve basically opened a lemonade stand, here! You’ve been warned!*

**Night of the Hunter: Consummated**

Scabior was scowling as they descended deeper into the bowels of the forest. 

He _should_ be thrilled to finally be on his way to having one of the jolliest shags of his life—but something still nagged him, preventing him from fully enjoying the situation.

His frown shifted to disgruntled seething, as he carelessly kicked a pile of twigs, scattering them. 

_What_ in the name of Merlin’s y-fronts made that bleedin’ ginger so goddam _special?_

 _What_ did that freckled git have—that he didn’t have? 

Scabior huffed in spite of himself. 

It’s not like the lil’ wart was good in the sack—and for Godric’s sake, he wasn’t even the least bit fit... _what_ did she see in him, then? 

He shook his head to clear it, scolding himself for gettin’ his wand in a knot over some stingy bit of arse that didn’t want to give him the time of day...

Scabior ground his teeth in frustration. 

Never before had a girl given him so much trouble. 

He squared his jaw in resolution, his eyes now possessing a foreboding, sinister glint. 

It didn’t matter _what_ that ginger twat had or didn’t have, he consoled—when all’s said and done, he’d still get the best of the boy’s pretty lil’ mate.

With that, he forced himself out of his reverie into the present, now realizing how far they’d actually traveled. 

Scabior realised he could no longer hear his men; the darkness thickened with each step as the trees’ gnarled, grasping limbs started to eclipse the rapidly fading light. 

Then without warning, he was blindsided by an unexpected, nearly incapacitating blow to his gut. 

He briefly doubled over, grunting as the breath was knocked out of him. 

The girl smashed into him again, attempting to wrangle his wand out of his hand. 

He only saw her outline, but Scabior instinctively pushed forward with all his might—resulting in a hard, pronounced _thud_ as his attacker tumbled to the ground.

Panting and simultaneously cursing his negligence, he lit his wand and crouched over her.

He then tossed it just beyond her grasp in order to free up his hands—casting them both in an eerie, shadowy, half-glow. 

In spite of her precarious predicament, the girl glowered at him unflinchingly, her lower lip jutting out—daring him to make his next move.

“Feisty lil’ thing, ain’t ya?” he murmured huskily, inclining his head so his stubbly jawline grazed against hers. 

She sharply inhaled, before obstinately twisting away, glaring at him out of the corner of her eye as if he were something revolting that was stuck to her trainer. 

He chuckled as he roughly pulled her chin back to face him. 

“I thin’ that’s quite enough o’ _that._ ”

He took a lock of her hair and started twirling it between his fingers.

With feigned exasperation, he remarked, “You’re actin’ like this ‘s some kin’ of torture, buffin’ with ‘ole Scab.” 

He shrugged his shoulders offhandedly.

“ ‘S really no big deal, love—I go in, n’ get out—and no one’s the wiser.” 

Then, a delectable suspicion dawned on him, and a wicked smile lit his face as he transitioned to deftly circling her navel.

“Unless...you was savin’ it for someone special, love?”

Rosy patches of pink crept up her cheeks, affirming his hunch.

 _God,_ how he longed to see how the rest of her luscious skin had been affected—his groin now twitching incessantly beneath his pants.

Scabior took a deep, steadying breath. 

He was _done_ dinkin’ ‘round with her now...he was gonna go absolutely barmy if he didn’t scratch this itch of his—and soon. 

“ ‘Ow _precious_ ,” he whispered, still taunting her torso, while she proceeded to block him with her still-bound hands. 

With a hiss of irritation, he mercilessly shoved her wrists above her head; then grabbing his wand, charmed them to freeze in that position. 

The girl’s eyes widened in terror—her breathing now coming in uneven, uncontrolled bursts.

Scabior watched as her eyes darted around wildly, panic starting to take its toll. 

He clucked his tongue, chiding her. 

“Now, honestly, pet, I’m doin’ you a favor, really...savin’ you from havin’ your virtue taken by the likes of _‘im_ ,” he concluded with a dismissive snort. 

“ _He_ is more of a man than you’ll _ever_ be!” she spat through gritted teeth.

Her chafed, trembling hands had balled into fists, while her immobilized arms quaked with contemptuous indignation.

There was a brief moment of silence as her words cut through him, puncturing a raw nerve he didn’t even know he had.

_So that’s it—Miss-High-and-Mighty’s too good for the likes of ‘im, huh?_

His blood boiled at the thought, and there was now a steady pounding in his ears. 

Scabior’s visage darkened, while his voice had dropped menacingly. 

“I’ll show you wha’ a smart mouth’ll get ya.”

With that, he leaped forward and grabbed her by the throat, flinging her into the tree with brutal force, then firmly pinned her in place with his body. 

She yelped from the abrupt impact while he speedily undid his trousers, shoving them and his skivvies down to his boots to give him maximum mobility. 

“ D’ you know ‘ow many times—” he slashed through the air with a Severing Charm, slicing through her jeans and knickers with ruthless precision.

Oblivious to her frantic protests, he continued in earnest, “Y’ know ‘ow _many_ times I’ve been wankin’ off t’ whoever owned this scarf?”

The girl looked nauseated, and she shook with unbridled emotion as she continued her desperate attempt to breach his enchantments.

She squeaked in embarrassment as Scabior unashamedly nipped and scraped his teeth against the goosebumps that had formed as she became exposed to the elements.

His wandering hands continued to freely roam her body, and they soon started to trail upwards, under her jumper towards her pert breasts, and he saw fury spring to life in the girls’ eyes.

“ _Don’t—_!” she snarled, her weakened legs struggling to buck him.

“Did I _ask_ ya t’ _talk_ ,” he snapped with a stinging slap across her cheek. 

He then exhaled slowly through his teeth, gradually regaining his composure. 

“Anyways, it’d b’ a bloody crime not t’ inspect these beauts, love,” he purred, stroking the tender skin with the underside of his thumb.

He transitioned to boldly kneading her mounds, watching as her eyes pooled angrily with unshed tears. 

“S’ides, love—s’ not like the ginger’s been givin’ them any ‘tention, anyway,” he intoned with a tight-lipped, condescending smirk.

Her nostrils flared furiously, but she wisely remained silent—unwilling to face the consequences for responding to his taunts. 

“Oooh, did I hit a nerve, love?” he cooed, starting to tortuously grind his hips into hers, before finally shifting his full weight onto her already-fragile frame.

“N-n-no,” she moaned, still fruitlessly attempting to throw him off. 

“Shhh...don’ fight it,” he soothed, putting a filthy finger to her quivering lips. 

He then cupped her face in a crude attempt to pacify her, sensing her uneasiness and tension at his abrupt softening. 

“Just relax...I’ll take care of you, love.” 

Then with a vengeful, penetrating thrust, he slammed into her with reckless abandon. 

His eyes rolled back in ecstasy, sighing contentedly as he buried himself in her, his jagged nails simultaneously sinking into the girl’s feverish skin. 

Scabior then forcefully jerked her head towards him so their gazes met dead-on, wanting to watch her as he perforated the innermost part of her core. 

There was nothing between them now. 

The girl then released a piercing wail of misery that erected the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. 

“That’s right, sugar—scream for ‘im,” he growled, forcing himself into her again and again, grinning as she writhed beneath him.

He wanted _all_ of them—both his men and her boys, to hear...to know exactly what he was doing.

But as he continued, for the life of him, he couldn’t produce another peep from her—as if she were denying him out of spite.

Sure enough, on further inspection, the girl was clamping down so hard on her bottom lip that tiny beads of blood had bubbled to the surface.

 _Damn_ her for tryin’ to spoil his fun...

“We’ll be havin’ none o’ _that_ ,” he hissed. 

With a furious flick, a gaping, crimson gash was gouged into her wrists, a hair above her bonds. 

It was angled so that with any move she made, the ropes would inevitably bite into her tender, tarnished flesh.

A mangled cry emitted from her bruised, bloodied lips, her battered body arcing in agony. 

“Mmm...ohh _yes_ , that’s more like it, m’lovely...good girl,” he hummed approvingly. 

With every couple of thrusts, he’d carve another scarlet notch into her soft, supple skin for good measure—just to keep things lively. 

Now with her enticing, intermittent whimpers of pain, he felt himself reaching fever pitch, his movements becoming more sporadic with every passing second. 

Sure enough, a few moments later, with a grunted ‘bloody _hell,_ ’ he released his warm seed into her. 

Then, and only then, did he finally heave himself out to admire his handiwork, running a mangy hand along her inner thigh. 

“ ‘Ow _sweet_ —you left me a lil’ gif’, beautiful.” 

He put a blood-tinged finger to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled the metallic, pungent odor. 

Scabior gazed down at the girl, who again looked as if she were about to vomit. 

“Wanna taste, love?” 

She scowled in response, and in a flash, he pressed his thumb into one of her red-rimmed, festering wounds. 

The girl automatically opened her mouth to yell, and seizing his opportunity, he unapologetically shoved his grimy fingers inside, gagging her. 

Scabior’s grunt of enjoyment turned into a howl of pain as she fiercely chomped onto his unsuspecting hand, forcing him to scramble for his wand. 

Only after a swift flash and a pealing _bang_ , was her vice-like grip grudgingly broken. 

“You fuckin’ lil—” he yanked her towards him, and she flinched, thinking he’d strike her again.

Instead, with one fluid motion, he’d spun her around, broke the spell he had on her arms, and shoved her down into a crouching position, so she was now on all fours.

She gasped as her raw, bloodied wrists made direct contact with the rough, unforgiving ground. 

“No!” she croaked demandingly, but he’d already frozen her in place again. 

“I’m gon’ make you regret tha’,” he vehemently snarled as he renewed his assault.

He made sure to burrow further into her with each marring maneuver, moaning vulgar obscenities as he relentlessly pounded into her core. 

“Jus’ admit it pet, y’ wanted this...I can see it ‘n your eyes—you _want_ me t’ give it t’ you, don’ ya?” 

He was lying through his teeth, of course. 

All Scabior could see in her was pain, along with a pleading look of vulnerability that he couldn’t quite banish from his mind's eye. 

He grunted as he shifted to a different angle, ruthlessly stretching her in the process. 

“Tell me, love—am I livin’ up t’ your expectations, then?” 

She refused to answer, her eyes seemingly transfixed to the forest floor. 

He proceeded, undeterred—determined to elicit a response from his ever-stubborn captive. 

“Blimey, I just _can’_ get over ‘ow lovely an’ _tight_ y’ are, Granger,” he rumbled, as she gasped in surprise.

Thrilled that he had (if only temporarily,) fractured her steely demeanor, he eagerly continued. 

“Don’ think I don’ know who y’ are…‘Mione, _isn’t_ it?” 

He emphasized her name with another savage thrust, his sharp fingernails furrowing deeper into the delicate skin around her hips—leaving behind red, angry welts.

“Don’t—say—” she groaned involuntarily as he increased the pace of his onslaught. 

He gave a hollow, ringing laugh as he further escalated his rhythm, rocking her backwards into him with every push, crushing her body to his. 

“I’d reckon we’re on first-name terms b’ now, wouldn’ ya, m’ sweet?” 

“P- _please_ ,” she trailed imploringly, grimacing as he forcibly pulled her into him again.

“Now wouldja look at this,” he whispered as he reveled in her plaintive tone, his dark eyes glittering malevolently.

“Y’ finally beggin’ now, missy—the great ‘Ermione Granger has finally ‘ad ‘nough?”

He pulled out, then pitilessly inched himself back in—his length tightening inside of her as he continued to toy with his prey. 

“What’s wrong, pet? Don’ wan’ the big, bad Snatcher to fuck your juicy lil’ cunt _raw_?”

A slow smile lit his face as a delicious idea occurred to him. 

“Just—jus’ tell me ‘ow much you like it, _then_ I’ll stop.” 

“I _won’t_ —” she whimpered, crying weakly now.

“Wron’ answer,” he chirped. 

Scabior seized her hips, then brutishly rammed into her as forcefully as he could muster, his slickened length smacking noisily as it invaded her body. 

She squealed, her entire frame spasmodically straining from his intrusion.

“Now...let’s try this ‘gain, love...” he continued cooly, his expression stony and immovable.

“If you wan’ t’ git back t’ your precious lil’ mates...make all o’ this stop, I jus’ need three—simple— _words._ ” 

He punctuated the last phrase with several more debilitating thrusts, while she continued to squirm. 

“ _Please_...don’t...m-make...m-me—”

“D-don’t m-make m-me…” Scabior stammered tauntingly in a babyish tone, his lips curling in distaste. 

“I’ll make y’ do whatever the fuck I _want_ you t’ do, love.” 

He continued to press her unyieldingly while stroking her hair—savoring her anguish as she winced from his ministrations. 

“If you wan’ to leave...you know wha’ I need t’ hear.”

There was a painful silence as his humiliating proposition dangled in the air, demanding to be answered.

Miraculously, the girl ceased struggling.

Her head drooped as she started to wrack heavy, irrepressible sobs—her chest convulsing with each shallow breath.

“I—I…” 

“Come ‘gain, sugar?” 

He was milking this moment for all it was worth—after all she put him through, he wasn’t gonna let her wiggle away without paying his price. 

“I—I-l-like it,” her once-steady voice cracking as she ashamedly buckled under the weight of his triumph. 

With an exultant and primal moan of pleasure, he seeped into her core again. 

He paused before grudgingly withdrawing, wanting to linger as long as possible. 

Lazily flicking his wand, the girl promptly collapsed into the dirt. 

Scabior was still breathing heavily as he got to his feet, nonchalantly pulling up his plaid trousers. 

“Now, tha’ wasn’ so bad, was it, pet?—” he purred, airily restoring her sheared clothing with a quick Repairing Charm.

Desiring to hasten their return, he offered the girl a hand of assistance—but she blanched as if his touch would burn her.

He snorted as he pulled away, chuckling darkly.

“Still t’ good for ‘ole Scab, eh, princess?”

He kneeled beside her, while she eyed him suspiciously—her face otherwise seemingly unreadable. 

But upon closer study, he was startled to discover some lingering embers of rebellion still kindled in her gaze. 

He sighed. He was afraid it would come to this. After all he’d done, she was still holding out. 

This would not do.

For reasons he barely understood himself, he had the savage urge to completely snuff out every last bit of that fiery spirit, to see the light leave her eyes. 

He would _not_ let her win. 

It now occurred to him that it wasn’t _what_ he did to her that really mattered...it was _who_ was there to witness it that made the difference.

Yet, at the same time, he didn’t want his lot ogling them—the very thought of having those brutes eyeing up _his_ prize made his skin crawl. 

He shoved her clothes into his overcoat, before attempting to get the girl to her feet. 

With a pang of annoyance, he saw that her knees had given way, and she was unable to rise.

“Merlin, almighty—all this _fuss_!” he fumed. 

He flicked his wand and she was now levitating a few inches off the ground. 

Scabior trudged ahead, with the girl bobbing behind him like some bizarre, life-like balloon. 

Once they got to the point where his men were within earshot, but still out of sight, he reversed the spell, and she toppled to the ground. 

Despite the girl’s obvious frailty, he quickly cast a Full-Body-Bind on her as a precautionary measure—regardless of how incapicated she looked, she still wasn’t ‘Undesirable #2’ for no reason. 

“Jus’ hol’ tight there, love—be back ‘n a few.” 

As he reached his men, it didn’t take long for him to realise the Weasley wasn’t in fine form either, and he’d need to be _Leviosa’d_ as well. 

The Snatchers were now muttering amongst themselves—they knew Scab was always on the pull, but did he have to take so bloody _long_? 

“ _Shut_ your bleedin’ holes, we’ll get our goddamn gold, alrigh’?” he impatiently assured them.

This went _so_ much deeper than just money now—this was personal. 

“Listen, I’ll sen’ up a signal when I wan’ the ginger brought back, ‘kay?”

They reluctantly muttered their assent, and he turned around, now traveling decidedly faster than he had before. 

When the Weasley finally neared the girl, he gave a strangled, almost inhuman sob of despair. 

Scabior released him so he fell to the ground, but the boy's bonds and voice still remained intact. 

“What did you DO?! ‘Mione—‘MIONE!” he bellowed, incensed. 

Scabior saw fresh tears wind their way down the girl’s ruddy cheeks, but she remained silent. 

He loomed over the boy, grinning jubilantly as he took in the latters’ misery. 

Scabior then quickly cast a Silencing Charm so the lad would hear him.

“You’re jus’ in time for the show, ginger.”

He slowly started to encircle the Weasley, as if he were a carnivorous beast about to eagerly devour his next victim. 

“You see, Miss Granger desired an encore, and an encore is what she’ll get.”

He then lifted the boy’s enchantment—it was much more delicious to hear him struggle to her aid. 

“Ya got the bes’ seat ‘n the house, chap!” Scabior remarked brightly, before pushing down his trousers in one smooth motion. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ TOUCH her, you sick bastard—!” the Weasley roared, fighting and struggling all the more. 

With a rush of sadistic satisfaction, Scabior saw the girl start to hyperventilate as he sauntered towards her.

“Oh, I won’ be touchin’ ‘er mate,” he assured, arching his brows suggestively.

“She’ll be touchin’ _me_.”

And with that, he bent down, huddling over the girl’s still, frozen form. 

Her mahogany pupils were so fully dilated with fear, Scabior thought he’d fall right into them. 

Taking his now-hardened length in his hands, he positioned himself above her head, and paused for effect, to ensure the Weasley could clearly see them. 

The ginger was now thrashing fitfully as if someone had lit him on fire, spouting unintelligible curses, all the while trying to get to the girl.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you fuckin’ _dare_ —leave her ALONE!” 

“You wan’ this to stop, ginge?” 

A horrid smile stretched across Scabior’s gaunt face as inspiration suddenly struck him. 

“Who’s that boy with you, then?” 

All the colour drained from the Weasley’s already-pale face. 

“D’you really wan’ to save her, or not?”

“He’s no one—no one!” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Y-yes—just leave her the fuck ALONE!” 

“There’s only one way I’ll be done with her—and that’s when you tell me the _truth_.”

By Merlin, this was _loads_ more sporting than just having the Mudblood here to occupy his time—he really should have brought the boy sooner. 

“I dunno who he is—I don’t KNOW!” The ginger shouted as he looked towards the girl, wordlessly begging her. 

“Have it your way, then.” Scabior shrugged, before he again turned to stoop over her.

“Stop, STOP—!” The boy sobbed inconsolably, twitching and groaning as he continued to strain against his bonds. 

“Take me instead—PLEASE, just punish me!” 

“Oh, I’m about to.”

And with that, he plunged in, clogging the girl’s dainty windpipe with his throbbing manhood, looking straight into her deadened eyes. 

The sensation wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as it could have been, but it had achieved the desired effect.

After a few moments of manic, enraged screaming, it appeared the ginger had yelled himself hoarse, and was now pitifully silent. 

When he’d felt he’d lingered long enough, he lifted the girl’s curse, and she instantly turned to sputter and retch violently onto the forest floor.

“Blimey, ginge—we’ll ‘ave to get you a cot at Mungo’s; you’re lookin’ a bit peaky,” Scabior commented blithely, yearning to see the Weasley’s reaction. 

With a gravelly snarl, the boy menaced, “There won’t be anything left of you to take back, when I’m done with you…” his voice raspily rising with every syllable.

“You SLIMY, SCUMMY, PIECE-OF—”

But Scabior cut him off, swiftly silencing him with a casual jerk of his wrist. 

He crouched down, so he was now at eye-level with the ginger. 

“You shoul’ really be thankin’ me, boy—I _coul’_ ‘ave had my men each hav’ their own go at ‘er.”

Scabior then cocked an eyebrow quizzically. 

“ ‘Ow long d’you think your lil’ girlfriend would ‘ave lasted with ‘ole Greyback, y’ reckon?”

He paused with mocking thoughtfulness, watching gleefully as the boy’s face shifted from a stark white to a fierce shade of crimson. 

“We put wagers on it, you see...the standin’ record’s ‘bout 10 minutes, but judgin’ from the state of ‘er now, I doubt we’d ‘ave a winner on our ‘ands.” 

The Weasley silently shot him a look so loathingly venomous that it would’ve surely incinerated him on the spot, if the boy had his way.

Flashing a cocky grin, Scabior rose to his feet, and within moments, burgundy sparks erupted from the tip of his wand. 

By the time he had leisurely pulled on his clothes and retrieved the girl’s belongings from his coat, Greyback had arrived to return the boy.

The wolf ravenously licked his chops as he tasted the biting tang of the blood that hung in the air, growling testily. 

“Leave ‘im alone, Greyback—Miss Granger ‘as mos’ generously upheld ‘er end of the bargain...and I’m a man of m’ word, after all.” 

The feral man snorted in response as he hauled the ginger away, the boy continuing to glare daggers before they were eventually swallowed by the forest. 

Scabior then turned indifferently towards the huddled girl. 

“C’mon, let’s git a move on, you. He’s gon’ now—and I still ‘ave a reward t’ claim.”

But she didn’t move a muscle. 

Hugging her knees to her chest, she started to rock back and forth, blubbering for the Weasley—a blank, glazed look etched onto her delicate features. 

Scabior rolled his eyes. 

“He’s not comin’ back for you—ya realise tha’, don’ you?” 

Here was his chance to drive that final nail in her proverbial coffin. 

“You jus’ don’ get it, d’you?” Scabior tutted, shaking his head. 

He grabbed her chin, and she weakly attempted to break his grip, but he held her fast. 

Scabior bored his eyes into hers—a cold, cruel smile now pulling on his lips. 

“Wha’ makes y’ think tha’ anyone would waste their time on a used-up lil’ slag like _you_?” 

She winced as if he’d slapped her, her face crumpling as she ashamedly dropped her gaze from his—her eyes welling as she stared at the ground.

Satisfied with her silence, he finally released her. 

“Now...and I’ll only say this once more—on yer bloody fuckin’ feet.” 

Slowly, leaning against the tree for support, she managed to wobble to a standing position, her breathing coming in labored pants as she pulled on the rest of her clothes, turning away from him as she did so. 

He humored her for a moment, before gruffly muttering just loud enough for her to hear, “Nuthin’ I haven’ already seen, love.” 

Her back stiffened, then sagged dejectedly as she finished her task. 

“Let’s _go_ ,” he ordered, disdainfully jabbing her bruised backside with his dirt-encrusted boot. 

  
  


***


	3. Commenced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finished with his garish task, Scabior deposits his prize.

**Night of the Hunter - Commenced**

They limped along in silence; it seemed an eternity had passed before they finally neared the clearing where everyone was gathered. 

“Sorry for the delay, gents...couldn’ keep the cheeky lil’ thing off me,” Scabior snidely declared, while his men snickered in response.

Disgusted with her painstaking pace, he scornfully struck the small of her back with his foot.

The girl fell onto her face with a groan, feebly stirring as the Snatchers roared in crude appreciation. 

“Ohhh, wouldja look at the poor lil’ thing,” Scabior scoffed, clucking his tongue with feigned concern. 

“I’d reckon I’d be righ’ knackered too, if I were her,” he concluded with a nasty smirk. 

“ ‘Oy, boys—don’ you wanna see ‘ow I did?” Scabior loudly inquired, to thunderous, coarse hollering. 

Shrill whistles of admiration erupted as he flippantly turned her over, revealing several dark streaks that smeared the in-seams of her jeans. 

There was lewd jeering as the girl curled into herself, vainly attempting to obscure the incriminating stains from their prying, eager eyes.

“Well—look’s like I certainly made m’ mark on _this_ one, eh, lads?”

He jovially nudged her thigh with his foot, to the raucous approval of the others. 

“Whaddaya think, ginger?” Scabior crowed as he stooped to examine the Weasley’s broken, prone form.

He sneered as he surveyed the boy’s swollen, tear-soaked face. _Pathetic_.

“Can y’ _blame_ me, though? I really couldn’ help it, mate—she was just _gaggin’_ for it, y’ know?” 

“And just wha’ kind of gent would I be if I denied ‘er?” 

Scabior gleefully proceeded, his voice lilting mockingly, knowing the boy couldn’t respond, even if he wanted to.

“And by Merlin, she tol’ me she actually _liked_ it _—_ how ‘bout that?” he finished smugly. 

Despite his weakened condition, a nerve jumped furiously in the boy's rigid jaw; whilst his pale, shaking hands had curled into fists.

Scabior fully expected the Weasley to haul off and take a swing at him, but to his complete astonishment, the boy instead started gingerly removing his coat, wincing in pain as he did so. 

He then proceeded to crawl agonizingly towards the girl, his jacket balled in hand. 

Amidst an upswing of uproarious, crass laughter, a hob-nailed boot promptly crushed the boy’s hand—not relenting until the latter reluctantly released it. 

Disinterested now, Scabior swaggered towards Potter, who was trying to keep his tear-streaked face averted from the former’s probing gaze.

“Oh, bless me—I almos’ forgot ‘bout you,” he murmured before brushing aside the boy’s sweaty bangs, exposing a faint, yet unmistakable jagged mark.

Scabior simpered with delight, audaciously meeting the boy’s eyes. 

Noticing his glint of recognition, a look of utter horror swept over the youth’s anxiously taut features. 

“Change o’ plan—we’re not takin’ this lot to the Ministry.” 

The girl cowered at his proximity as he harshly shoved the scarf onto her neck, his fingertips deliberately skimming her skin so he could see her cringe one last time. 

“Somethin’ t’ remember our time together,” he crooned as he hauled her to her feet. 

With the girl tucked securely into his side, and the others in tow, he welcomed the all-consuming constriction of Apparition.

***

_No, no, NO—not ‘gain!_

Scabior lurched awake with a sickening jolt, his breathing coming in short, rapid gasps. 

Sweat trickled down his forehead as he gradually took in the dim, familiar outlines of his tent, groaning with displeasure.

He cursed as he ruefully revealed the godforsaken scarf that was still tucked under his pillow—the ever-present symbol of his pure and utter daftness. 

Ever since he deposited the young fugitives at Malfoy Manor, there wasn’t a night that had passed by undisturbed.

The girl continued to beckon him in his sleep, tantalizingly tormenting him with what could have been—if _only_ he’d jus’ waited for Potter’s face to clear...

“Scab, let’s _go_ , c’mon!” one of the Snatchers cajoled, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other.

“Whaddaya _want_ , Ebbens?” he growled, sitting up straighter in his bunk. 

Scabior finally tuned in to all the commotion outside—the sporadic thumpings of hectic movement, the excited, frenzied, yelling...their camp was undoubtedly on the move. 

“There’s a fight startin’ at ‘Ogwarts, Scab—everyone’s there, even Potter and ‘is lot!” 

The lad finished his report breathlessly, while continuing to roll restlessly on the balls of his feet.

Scabior’s breath hitched in his throat. 

_So, she was still alive after all._

He immediately sprang to his feet and nodded wordlessly as the young man left to wake any remaining stragglers.

Throwing the scarf on, he eagerly strode into the crisp, cool night. 

He’d let her escape him once—and he’d be _damned_ if he did that again. 

Scabior’s calloused hands trailed longingly across the soft, coloured cloth.

If he was sure of _anything_ —it was that she would be there. 

And if there was something he was equally sure of—it was that he’d be waiting for her. 

  
  


****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending guys, but I couldn’t stomach actually doing that to Hermione! 
> 
> I know there’s a lot of slang here, but I wanted it to be as authentic as possible, (I’m just a humble Yank here, tryin’ my best!) 
> 
> The song that was my muse while I wrote is aptly called, ‘Night of the Hunter,’ by 30 Seconds to Mars. Cheers! 
> 
> ***
> 
> Here's some of Nick Moran’s (Scabior’s) interviews that were the initial catalysts for writing this story! 
> 
> Moran talks about some cut scenes from ‘Deathly Hallows Part 1’  
> https://www.mugglenet.com/2010/09/scabior-actor-moran-reveals-some-death-eater-scenes-cut-because-they-resembled-saw/
> 
> Moran discusses Scabior’s violent ways-  
> https://www.snitchseeker.com/harry-potter-news/nick-moran-talks-edited-deathly-hallows-scene-involving-scabior-tormenting-ron-76784/
> 
> Scabior’s ‘Harry Potter wiki’ profile-(check out the ‘Behind the Scenes’ section on that page!)  
> https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Scabior
> 
> ***


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